Whatever happened next, I was done pretending I didn’t care.
And for once, that felt like strength—not weakness.
CHAPTER 22
LEDGER
The airport always smelled like burned coffee and nerves.
I’d been through this enough times to know that the anxiety never really went away. It just learned how to sit quietly in your chest while you pretended everything was fine. Trials season had a way of amplifying everything. Sounds were sharper. Thoughts louder. Futures heavier.
Roxie stood beside me in line, phone in hand, sunglasses pushed into her curls. She looked calm and beautiful. Effortlessly so. Like she hadn’t uprooted her life to play supportive spouse for a man whose entire career could hinge on two races.
“You good?” she asked, glancing over.
“Yeah,” I said automatically.
She smiled like she knew better but didn’t push. That had become our rhythm lately—gentle check-ins, careful space. The kind that looked functional from the outside and felt brittle if you pressed too hard.
We boarded, stowed bags, and settled in. Roxie took the window, knees tucked up, already scrolling through emails. Watching her work like that, absorbed and capable, did something unsettling to my chest. Pride and fear tangled together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
She was coming with me because that was the deal. The wife. The support system. The consistent presence.
But somewhere along the way, she’d stopped feeling like an accessory to my life and started feeling like something vital.
Which was terrifying in a whole new way.
That night, the hotel room greeted us with an unexpected problem.
Two queen beds.
I stared at them longer than necessary, irritation flaring—until I realized what I was actually feeling.
Disappointment.
I’d gotten used to sleeping beside Roxie. To the careful choreography of pillows between us. To the quiet comfort of her breathing on the other side of the invisible line.
Now there was space.
Too much of it.
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, setting her bag down by one bed. I took the other.
The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have, but we fell back into our usual routine, taking turns getting ready for bed in the bathroom.
As we both slid into our own beds, the dark made the silence feel even louder.
“So,” she said eventually. “Are you ready for your races tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I responded automatically, not giving myself time to even think of a different answer. I couldn’t think about anything else.
I stared up at the ceiling wanting her to keep talking to me but also knowing that it wouldn’t help things. It wouldn’t miraculously make things not feel so strained between us. The smart thing to do would be to go to sleep so I could be as well rested as possible for my races tomorrow.
“Whatever happens tomorrow,” she said, her soft voice floating over to me, “I’m so proud of you.”
I turned my head toward her, only able to see her silhouette. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I know,” she said. “But I wanted you to know.”
